


Letters to His Heart

by Akame_no_Youkai



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Overblot, contains game's main story spoilers, post-Overblot character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24718033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akame_no_Youkai/pseuds/Akame_no_Youkai
Summary: He remembers what he said back then.Based off the song “Dear X, You Don’t Own Me” by Disciple. Written for the first four Overblot characters for Twisted.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 170





	1. Dear Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dear pain,  
>  Oh, it's been a long time  
> Remember when you were holding me tight  
> I would stay awake with you all night_

He remembers what he said back then.

_"THAT FOOLISH ATTITUDE, THAT CAREFREE SMILE, ALL OF IT...I'VE ALWAYS HATED IT! I'VE ALWAYS WISHED YOU WERE GONE - AS LONG AS YOU'RE ALIVE, I'LL NEVER BE FREE...WITHOUT YOU THERE, I CAN BE..."_

Thinking back on it now, it seems almost childish, trying to break free of a fate he's forever chained to. He hates Kalim Al-Asim. It's all his fault, his whole existence, that Jamil's life is like this. Forever cleaning up his messes, putting his life on the line whenever he eats or drinks anything, sleepless nights spent keeping watch over him in case of assassins, until Jamil is on the verge of collapse, wishing he could just be free of it all, be free of _him_.

And yet Jamil finds himself sitting at the foot of Kalim's bed still, staring down at the open pages of disorganised notes Kalim has made for the upcoming spring tests, trying to focus on the messy writing instead of the sensation of Kalim's clumsy but slender fingers in his hair, a clumsy attempt at braiding his dark locks as he sits behind him.

"How many years did the Dwarf's Mine operate before its supply of magic crystals was completely exhausted?"

"Er..." Kalim's fingers hesitate, slow down. Jamil has to stay unmoving to not mess up whatever progress Kalim has made with his hair. It's funny how much he can tell of Kalim's emotions simply from the movement of his hands. "Six years?"

"Seven." Jamil sighs. "Look, I told you before. This is easy. The legend has seven dwarfs, right? The mine operated for seven years. Just remember it that way."

"Right, right, you did tell me that!" Those hands resume their work, happy and flitting, and Jamil shivers a little when the back of a warm hand brushes his neck, gathering more of his hair. "Okay, next question."

The winter holidays have come to a close and thanks to _certain events_ that occurred over the break, the whole of Scarabia dorm hadn't got much studying or training done. Jamil is all too aware of it: the whispers that still echo in the hallways, the looks that linger on his back after dorm meetings. Though Kalim has forgiven him, the others clearly can't accept putting things behind them so easily, and Jamil doesn't blame them. He'd hurt them, too, controlling them with his unique magic to obey his orders and kick Kalim and the others out when he was under the influence of Overblot. He could sense their distrust of him prickling at his skin, like sunrays beating down on him.

_What a terrifying ability...who's to stop him if he were to use it on us again? No one would be able to tell the difference...and no one could stop him since he'd just brainwash them, too...we can't follow someone like that...what on earth is Kalim thinking...?_

He tries not to let it get to him. They're right, anyway - especially that last point. He doesn't understand why Kalim could be so carefree about all this, simply saying "let's forget all the bad things that happened" and expect things to actually be okay. What an idiot.

And yet...

And yet, part of Jamil wants to believe him.

Which is possibly why he agreed to Kalim's request: for him to come into his room, late at night, to test him on the notes he'd made for the upcoming magic history exam, and to let him braid his hair.

That last point had come as a surprise, but Jamil had relented - it’s a good way to make Kalim sit still and focus, at any rate.

"What was the response from the fairies of the Valley of Thorns to the peace treaty offered by the neighboring Floral Meadow?"

"Oh, I know this one!" Kalim's fingers are deft and quick as he braids, throwing strands of hair one over the other as he answers. "They didn't like it, right? I remember Father talked about not being able to get flowers from the Meadow fairies in time for a parade because they were upset with the Thorn fairies..."

"And they were upset because...?" Jamil winces when Kalim tugs lightly at his hair, and his heart skips a beat. There's a strange feeling in his chest, something that feels almost familiar, like he has experienced this feeling before, but he can't put a name to it, nor can he remember why. It's a twisting pain in his heart, pinpricks of hurt and longing put together. It's painful. He wants it to stop.

"They...didn't like the treaty for some reason, right?"

Jamil clears his throat. "Yes. They weren't happy with the treaty and the reparations they asked for. Fairies can't lie but they can tell half-truths to mess with others, even their own kind, and the treaty was full of it. The Thorn fairies didn't believe in the Meadow fairies' sincerity in the treaty, because it's all words and excuses—"

"Done!" Kalim sits back with satisfaction. Jamil feels the plait of hair fall against his back, heavy and firm, unlike what he's used to with his hair simply tied back in a quick ponytail. It somehow gives him relief that Kalim's hands are no longer in his hair, but the pain in his chest persists.

"Did you listen to _anything_ I said?"

Kalim pauses. "Well, yeah! The treaty, right? Wait, don't move!" He puts his hands on Jamil's shoulders to push him back down when Jamil tries to get up. "I'm not done!"

"You better not be, we're barely halfway through your notes."

"Just wait!" Jamil hears the bedsprings creak as Kalim climbs off the bed, reaching for something on the bedside table. A drawer slams shut, and Jamil hears the clinking of gold and silver.

"What are you—"

"Your hair looks plain without any accessories in it," Kalim says matter-of-factly, and Jamil has to stifle a snort. _Plain_. Yes, Kalim, that's the point. He's _supposed_ to look plain, especially next to him: he's nothing but his shadow, never to stand out. 

But Jamil gives up on offering any rebuttal, because he won’t listen anyway, as long as Kalim stays put and they keep studying. The last thing Jamil needs on his plate is explaining to the Asim family why Kalim is barely scraping a pass grade on his tests. 

And a small, guilty part of him enjoys the sensation of Kalim's hands in his hair once more.

"Okay, look. Fairies take speech really seriously. Lies, excuses, and grand explanations are words, words, and words. Truth is simple, singular.” Jamil snaps his fingers as he says it, the sound loud and clear in the room. “That's why you can't trust fairies, or people who ramble. Got it?"

"Got it." Even without seeing his face, Jamil can picture Kalim's expression: eyes bright with rare concentration, his tongue between his teeth, eyebrows scrunched a little. He can feel the accessories being wound into his hair, clinking together as Kalim decorates his braid for him. Like he's something to be displayed and revered, appreciated and treasured.

It's improper, all of this. Stupid, even. Come dawn Jamil will have tugged off all the accessories, smoothed out his hair, put his hood back up and returned to his role as bodyguard, tutor, and servant. Despite all that Jamil said and did before, he cannot change fate: that he is and always will be subordinate to Kalim Al-Asim.

He cannot be equal to him. He cannot raise himself to his level - nor can Kalim lower himself to his.

He recognises this feeling now, the twist of a thorn in his heart. He knows exactly what it is. It's something he experienced back then when he was young, having just been assigned to forever be Kalim's servant and shadow, before he buried them under a guise of professionalism, beneath even the anger he secretly harboured towards him, another emotion more raw, more intimate.

Self-loathing.

It's bundled with shame, guilt, and sadness, but Jamil finally remembers what it is. Long ago before he let hate towards Kalim consume him, back when he still had some shred of humility left in him, when he was aware of the poisonous anger in his veins, when he still had the capacity to realise that _oh, it's not Kalim's fault, it's me_ —

...Back when Jamil knew, deep down, that he was a terrible person.

As the years went by Jamil had gradually convinced himself that his resentment was justified, that it was _okay_ to hate Kalim. That surely, it was fine to loathe him, to wish him ill will, to curse this fate he's chained to, and to try and change things. When he believed in that, it consumed him and the feeling in his chest went away, and he'd forgotten about it.

Until now.

Now, after Jamil had gone into Overblot, after he had told Kalim to his face that he'd always despised him and wanted him gone, and Kalim had forgiven him, and become determined to be a better master so that Jamil can, at the very least, accept him as a friend...

At first Jamil had had no intention of letting that happen. True, it had been more of an outburst than his real feelings, and it was undeniable that part of him still cared for Kalim even if he had said that, even if it was merely concern that a servant had for his master. He didn't hate him, not really, but he still found Kalim annoyingly clingy, too friendly, clumsy at everything.

And in a way that was what caused this self-loathing to re-emerge. Kalim was just that: too pleasant, too trusting, too _good_ , in contrast to Jamil's darkness and distrust and bitterness. 

How could Kalim be so naive, so innocent and unsuspecting? Why does he still ask him to study with him, ask him to let him braid his hair? After all that Jamil had brainwashed him for years, tricked the whole dorm, and almost killed him, after telling him to his face that he wished he didn't exist - why does Kalim allow this intimacy unbefitting of a servant and a master's relationship, almost like they are—

"Jamil?"

He hates him. He said that to him. And yet...

_Without you, I can be..._

"Kalim, why..."

"Oh, boy, I hate "why" questions, I always get off-track when I answer them!" Kalim interrupts, sounding frustrated. "I start explaining and explaining and I never get to the actual reason and..."

"Why don't you hate me?"

Kalim's fingers freeze, but it's not the same as earlier, a slowing down of movements, simple uncertainty of a test question. This is different. It's startled him, a mouse caught in the candlelight, but then Kalim's response comes faster than Jamil expects.

"Well...because it's you, Jamil."

Lies, excuses, and grand explanations are words, words, and words. Truth is simple, singular. _You_.

He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve _him_.

_Because it's you, Jamil._

That was what this pain was - knowing that he was undeserving of the happiness, care, and joy that Kalim shared with him, undeserving of this bond, of this—

No. He won't call it love. He can't.

Jamil stands up abruptly, the accessories in his hair clinking noisily, and Kalim's notebook falls to the ground. When he turns around, Kalim is sitting back on his heels, looking up at him in confusion. "Jamil?"

He hates the way his name sounds when he says it. It's disgusting because Jamil feels full of lies and Kalim makes him sound like he's not, like he’s something special to him. "Don't. Stop - making it sound like everything’s all going to be okay. Because it's not."

"What do you mean?"

There it is again, that look on Kalim's face, that affection he holds for Jamil that he really shouldn’t have. "This isn't like - like how the legend goes, alright? We’re not going to - have some happy ending where we...ugh, shit." The heat in Jamil's face flares up and he turns away from Kalim to rub at his cheeks, trying to will his tears away. He wants to tug the noisy accessories out of his hair, undo the braid Kalim's tied for him, get rid of anything Kalim tries to give him, because he doesn’t _deserve_ it. "I don't know - I don't know what the hell you want from me. But I can't give you what you want, and it won't work out the way you think it will, and—"

But Kalim reaches out and takes his hands, both in his own, thumbs running reassuringly over his skin. It feels like a vow, and Jamil doesn't pull away. "It will. I promise."


	2. Dear Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dear shame,  
>  I was safe in your arms  
> You were there when it all fell apart  
> I would get so lost in your beautiful eyes_

He remembers what he said back then.

_“I'LL END UP GOING BACK TO MY OLD SELF AS A STUPID, DUMB OCTOPUS AT THIS RATE...BUT I'M GOING TO SHOW THEM...GIVE ME YOUR MAGIC THAT YOU'RE SO PROUD OF!"_

He tries not to think about it, but it’s much easier to remember things that you’re ashamed of than to forget them. Still, he’s kept busy enough by Mostro Lounge’s continued blooming business to ensure his mind is occupied at all times.

“The point card scheme is coming along very well. If I may suggest an improvement, the choice of food and drink for the special set may be increased for variety...we already change them daily, but there are students who are desperate to gain more points and so they may visit the Lounge more than once a day.” In front of Azul, Jade sifts through the pile of papers neatly arranged in a folder, his sharp eyes skimming quickly over the words. “I can arrange to speak to our supplier about increasing shipments of ingredients, but it is difficult to arrange a time. Your schedule is very packed as it is, Azul, with the number of students acquiring the points necessary for an appointment with you…”

“That’s alright. I trust you to be able to handle things with the supplier well enough without me.” Azul reaches into a drawer behind his desk and pulls out a thick folder, handing it to Jade over the table. “There shouldn’t be any difficulties with negotiations on the price. Keep me updated and notify me when you’ve finalised the expanded menu for the special set. Don’t hesitate to experiment with fresh ingredients and flavours...using the points as security is a good way to test new dishes without compromising much of the Lounge’s customers. They’ll return either way for the points, and we can take their feedback to refine new dishes until they’re suitable to be added to the main menu.” Azul stifles a sigh as he sits back in his chair, trying not to let his exhaustion show as he rubs one shoulder.

Jade, as usual, is much too perceptive. “There really are quite a number of students who have made appointments with you. Take care not to overexert yourself. Floyd and I can cover the Lounge’s operations for a few more days. You’ve only just recovered, after all...”

“It’s fine.” Azul doesn’t want to show weakness, not even to the twins. Having let them see him in Overblot was nothing less than disgraceful, and he hated showing how unsightly he could be in his original, cursed form - even to the two people who had seen him in such a state most as a child. “I’m fine.”

Jade doesn’t answer right away. Though Azul doesn’t make eye contact with him, instead focusing on the papers in front of him, he can tell that the other boy is scrutinising him. There’s a barrier between them, marked by the desk laden with Mostro Lounge documents and contracts made with Azul’s unique magic, and for a brief moment Azul wonders if Jade intends to cross that barrier. But a moment later Jade simply sighs. “Very well. You have an appointment in five minutes. I’ll take my leave now.”

“...Yes. Please receive them at the Lounge and bring them in when they arrive.” Azul doesn’t thank or acknowledge Jade as he leaves the office, closing the door quietly behind them.

In the ensuing silence there is only the rhythmic ticking of the clock in the corner, beating in tune to Azul’s heartbeat.

With his desk helpfully obscuring his lower half, Azul gingerly nudges his shoes off, the fancy black dress shoes that’s a part of Octavinelle’s smart formal uniform, taking a moment to stretch out his toes with a sigh of relief. It’s a bad habit of his, he knows, but in the privacy of his office, it’s an action that’s hard to shake. He’s still unused to them: his two human legs clad in human clothing and human shoes, his toes being cinched in those narrow shoes.

Knees, ankles, heels, toes. He can feel them, move them, but it still feels alien to them, like they’re not his. Well, they’re not, anyway - they’re granted to him by the potion he and all the other merfolk drink to be able to walk on land. His original form, with his octopus tentacles, is much more comfortable, but he would rather die than to let anyone - even merfolk - see him in that form.

He’d always seen that form as a curse, those slimy legs of his, not sleek and naturally beautiful like other merfolk's. Like the mer princess in the legend, he coveted human legs much more, willing to cast away his mer form for something better, something more accepted, something that would let him be wanted and needed...and loved.

There’s a knock on the door before Azul can pull himself out of his thoughts, and before he can even say “Enter” and slip his shoes back on, the door’s already opened, and in walks both Jade and Floyd, to Azul’s surprise.

“What’s the matter? Is there an issue in the Lounge?”

“No,” answers Jade, as Floyd closes the door behind them and complains, “It’s so _hot_ in here” and takes off his hat, tossing it onto the hat rack in the corner.

Azul frowns. It’s odd to see both twins coming in here of their own volition. Jade, maybe, but Floyd doesn’t come in unless he’s got some pressing goal in mind. “If there’s something you two would like to speak to me about, I’m sure it can wait until after the student’s appointment with me to listen to their troubles. Jade, I’m fairly sure that you said…?”

Jade smiles. “Oh, yes, there is an appointment. Please don’t worry, Azul - we are the students who would like to speak to you, is all.”

Azul chokes. Something’s up and he doesn’t like the grin on Jade’s face - or Floyd’s. “I don’t have time for your games. Please be serious.”

“We’re _really_ serious, Azul,” Floyd bemoans, his lilting manner ever-prevalent. He leans against Jade in a show of brotherly affection, draping an arm over his twin’s shoulder as he grins at Azul, digging something out of his jacket pocket and handing it to him. “50 points! Just as it says on the pamphlet and the Lounge website, see~”

Azul does see, and it’s starting to infuriate him. He’s also beginning to realise what’s going on. “Well, well. Congratulations on racking up 50 points on Mostro Lounge’s point card and making an appointment with me - though I am unsure how you accomplished this while simultaneously working…”

“The website simply says that points are gained by purchasing the sets and having the card be stamped by the paying recipient - there is no condition that the set purchased must be consumed by the owner of the card.” Jade is still smiling that smile of his. “All Floyd and I did was to register for cards of our own and...ahem, _convince_ some helpful students to lend us some aid. And yes, both of us have gained 50 points on our cards, as you can see here...and as such, we have made appointments to meet with you at the same time. There is also, might I add, no rule that appointments with the Manager are limited to one-to-one sessions.”

Damn these twins and their slyness. “ _Convince_ , huh. You two went through quite some work simply to speak with me. Whatever troubles are you two experiencing that is so terribly crucial that this discussion required a formal appointment, and is even more important than the smooth operation of the Lounge during peak business hours?”

Floyd shrugs. “Well, _you_ 're important.”

“Floyd,” Jade chides gently, but Azul has already frozen up at the response, caught unawares. “Forgive our impudence, Azul, but Floyd is right. We would like to speak to you, properly, and making an appointment like this was the only way we could think of for you to listen to us seriously. You are bound by contract as stipulated in the Lounge’s rules that you will fairly and sincerely listen and respond to the concerns of students who meet with you, are you not?”

“Y-yes.”

“Cuz, like, we knew if we tried to talk to you, like, _normally_ , you’d definitely dodge the question and make up excuses or something,” Floyd goes on fervently. “So, then, I was like, how do we make Azul listen to us? And then, Jade said, let’s make an appointment with him! It took us a few weeks, but here we are~”

A few weeks. Azul thinks back quickly. The only major thing that happened a few weeks ago was…

“I believe I have said that I don’t want to talk about it.” Azul begins, a little testily, but Jade is already shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Azul, but even _you_ must pay heed to the Lounge’s rules.”

“This is hardly the kind of _concern_ that the appointments were established to address—” Azul snaps.

“No concern is exempt from discussion based on the appointment details,” Jade points out. Next to him, Floyd is looking back and forth between Azul and Jade as they talk, a slight grin on his face as if he’s highly entertained. “Moreover, we are not asking much. The intended purpose, after all, is simply to listen to students’ troubles, and a solution is not guaranteed. We would just like you to listen to us.”

Azul looks at Floyd, who only grins wider, and back at Jade, whose mouth is twitching at the corner, and he heaves a sigh. “Alright. Fine. You win. You _both_ win.” Vehemently he snatches the two point cards from the twins, glancing over them quickly to make sure that there _are_ 50 points on each one - they did have them, how on earth did they…? - before tearing them up and tossing the pieces into the trash can beneath the table. He sits back on his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the both of them as they sit on the couch arms of the sofas behind them. “Talk, then.”

Jade and Floyd exchange looks, and Azul stifles yet another sigh. They’re not friends, they’re simply business partners. Even their bond is a contract of sorts: to carry out tasks and shoulder responsibility in exchange for authority and power, or in Floyd’s case, entertainment. Even after all that’s happened, Azul doesn’t wish to call them his friends. That’s not what they are.

As if anyone could truly be friends with someone like him, who is nothing without others’ powers and magic. Though that meddling Prefect had told him he had his own strength, in being hardworking and diligent, Azul finds it hard to believe. There's no such goodness in people like them.

All he has is resentment towards those who looked down on him, when if you took away that anger, then really, all Azul has is shame. He was embarrassed of who he had been and he directed his insecurity into anger, anger into dedication, and dedication into diligence. In reality, he isn’t much at all. Strip it all away and that shame was what drove him into Overblot.

All of a sudden Floyd stands up from the couch and reaches over the desk towards Azul, who can’t react in time at the sudden motion to snap at him, or even to slap his hand away.

“Wait—”

Too late. In a sudden movement, Floyd had reached forward and plucked Azul’s glasses from his face.

Azul leaps to his feet. “ _Give them back!_ ”

Without them on, everything that Azul sees is black and white. It’s only with the glasses that he’s able to see colour, that he gets vision that is the same as all other humans. The audacity of Floyd to cross that barrier, the barrier of the formalities separating them, and to take his glasses—

“Eh? But you don’t need them,” Floyd grumbles, looking down at the glasses in his hand dismissively.

Azul feels hotness flare up in his cheeks. “I don’t have time for games. Either you say what you need to say, or get out. Jade, my glasses, please.”

The black and white shape that Azul assumes is Jade doesn’t move, however. “I apologise, you know how Floyd’s moods are like. Before I help you return your glasses, however, I would like to ask you a question.”

“What?”

“Why are you so incredibly ashamed of yourself?”

Not this again. “Because my old self was ridiculed and bullied. You know this. Why are you still asking me this?”

“You’re ashamed of this?” Floyd waves the glasses in the air. “Or your legs?”

At that, Azul feels a flush of embarrassment, slipping his feet back into his shoes beneath the table. “No.”

“What’s so bad about seeing in black and white? Or having more legs than other merfolk?” Jade demands. He sounds genuinely angry, his eyes flashing grey in Azul’s vision. “Even if you look different from others, isn’t it much better to be proud of it than to hide it? Just because others hate you, then you let it influence you and you hate yourself too?”

“Easy for you to say,” Azul begins hotly, but Floyd slams his hand suddenly and loudly on the desk, making him jump - thankfully, it was not the hand that held his glasses.

“Hey, Azul, do you know how long we measure when we’re in our eel forms?”

“...Four metres.”

“Mmhmm. Four metres long.” Floyd’s lip curls. “We’re freaks - to the humans on land, to the other merfolk in the Coral Sea. But I don’t think that’s a problem, y’know? That’s just me, that’s just what Jade and I look like. Why should I care about what other people think?”

“Azul, no one played with us when we were children, either.” Jade’s voice is gentle. “Why do you think we talked to you that day?”

Azul blinks. “Wh...I didn’t know that.”

“Well, you wouldn’t, cuz we didn’t tell you.” Floyd sounds annoyed. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s not something to be ashamed of. If people think we're weird or stupid or ugly then it’s their problem. Why do we have to change just because they want us to? I’ll change myself because _I_ want to, not them.”

“Look, all we wanted to say is…” Now Jade’s tone is hesitant. “Azul, we like you when you’re dignified and proud and strong. And we like you when you’re strong because of _your_ abilities, not other people’s that you’ve taken from them. If you don’t want others to hate you, start from loving yourself. The Prefect is right - you have your own strengths, whether you realise it or not. And even if that strength was born out of bitterness...we want you to be strong because of your pride, not because of your insecurity.”

Many minutes pass before Floyd hands the glasses back to Azul, who says nothing as he reaches for them, putting them back on and blinking at the sudden emergence of colour in his vision.

“...Start by loving myself, huh…”

Azul looks at himself in the mirror, at his asymmetrical hair, the mole beneath his mouth that makes his face seem crooked, even his glasses that don’t quite sit right on his nose. His human form is nothing like his original mer form, in which he can read grimoires faster than other mer, freely and deftly control all eight of his legs, with suckers to hold on to weapons unlike other mer whose pretty tails could only be used for swimming. And well, he could release ink to hide himself, unlike now when he is under the full scrutiny of the twins in front of him.

They're right. He'd never been ashamed of himself, up until he let others get to him with their words and jabs and insults. He'd ended up believing them, thinking he was truly worthless.

“We want you to be a version of yourself that _you_ like, not what others would like.” Jade and Floyd glance at each other, and then at Azul. There’s no shrewd glint in Jade’s eyes, nor cheerful grin on Floyd’s voice, only uncharacteristic seriousness. “Would that be possible, Azul?”

There is only the ticking of the clock in the ensuing silence, in tune with Azul’s heartbeat, and it feels like an eternity before he answers with similarly uncharacteristic honesty. 

“...It’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS ENDED UP A LOT LONGER?!?!? Even though I have more Scarabia feels, I feel like I was able to put a lot of thoughts into Jamil and Kalim’s actions in brief words and descriptions, while I struggled to make things poetic and beautiful here and so I ended up rambling a lot...hope that’s okay ;; Azul received the most closure from MC and having the support of Jade and Floyd in his chapter out of all the Overblot characters, so rather than to deal with the aftereffects like I did with Jamil, I wanted to explore more of Azul’s relationship with Jade and Floyd from the twins’ point of view.
> 
> The idea that Azul needs glasses to see colour like other humans because otherwise he only sees black and white, due to octopi not having cornea to see colour under the sea is credited to my good friend Alex (tajador on Ao3) in his fic [Evolutionary Biology in Magic Users: Anatomy of Night Raven College’s Students](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464146/chapters/59041546)! THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME USE THIS!
> 
> The assumption/calculation that the twins in their eel forms measure over four metres comes from [this post](https://twitter.com/aaaaanchobimaru/status/1273547398321541120) where a JP fan calculated how long they were based on their silhouettes from Chapter 3!
> 
> The last bit is, obviously, a reference to Azul’s unique magic, “It’s a Deal”, but I used it not just for kicks but as a sign of things to come, that Azul himself has informally entered a deal/agreement with the twins to learn to love himself. Self-love is important y’all. Haters gonna hate and it’s totally fine to use spite as a motivation but don’t let it consume you and get you down.


	3. Dear Hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dear hate,  
>  I know you’re not far  
> You would wait at the door of my heart  
> I was amazed at the passion in your cries_

He remembers what he said back then.

_“NO MATTER HOW HARD I WORK, I'LL NEVER BE ACKNOWLEDGED. I'LL NEVER BECOME KING. ALWAYS BEING HATED SINCE BEING BORN...THERE'S NO WAY ANY OF YOU WILL EVER UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT'S LIKE!”_

He doesn’t regret having said any of it. It was true back then, and it’s still true now. Going berserk and falling into Overblot, in hindsight, was basically a glorified tantrum with a side of property damage and mass injuries. In the end nothing changed.

And still life goes on. After spending his winter holidays lazing about at home, avoiding people as much as possible, and occasionally being stuck with babysitting a noisy Cheka, Leona returned to Night Raven College where he continues to spend his time lazing about at the greenhouse, avoiding teachers as much as possible, and occasionally being stuck with actually doing his job as Prefect and managing the Savanaclaw dorm, which recently included having to go help out with the Fairy Gala fashion show that had taken over the greenhouse, so that he and his dorm’s students wouldn’t freeze to death.

The whole affair was interesting to say the least, despite all the trouble Leona had to go through with the others to prepare for it, and he isn’t keen to run into Vil or Crewel-sensei anytime soon, lest they pepper him with more comments and proposals about his potential as a model and embarrass him further. What mattered was that they got the school’s weather regulation back under control and things could return to normal once again.

Well, as normal as it usually got.

“...Leona-senpai? Sorry, could I…uh, ask you for a favour?”

Leona can’t stop his tail from swishing with annoyance at the sound of the gruff voice waking him from his slumber. Groaning a little, he sits up and stifles a yawn, brushing stray bits of leaf and petal off his shoulder, before turning to look at the newcomer. “Did Ruggie let you in?”

Jack blinks back at him. “No...I mean, everyone knows you come here to sleep when you skip class. It’s lunch break now, though.”

Which means Ruggie has gone off to get Leona’s lunch, leaving his hideout unguarded. He's been here since morning, having been forced out of his dorm room as usual, and going straight to the greenhouse for his nap - he likes sleeping here during the day because it feels more natural, more like home, much more comfortable than the blankets and fabrics on his bed at his dorm room. Yet it seems that Jack isn't willing to leave him to return to his nap anytime soon if he doesn't hear him out. Growling under his breath, Leona glares at Jack. “What do you want, then? This better be good, for you to wake me up.”

Now Jack looks embarrassed again, a slight pinkness to his cheeks and his large wolf ears flicking uncertainly. “Uh. Well. This is...awkward, but…”

“What, cat got your tongue? Spit it out already, don’t waste my time.”

“...Could you autograph this for my sister?” Jack asks quickly.

“... _What_?” Leona stares down incredulously at the glossy magazine and black marker pen that Jack has thrust out towards him. On the cover is an image of him, dressed in the silky white and gold fabrics of the Fairy Gala fashion show event, mid-strut down the catwalk. The shot looks good, if Leona has to admit, the lights and the angle of the picture making him seem practically radiant. It’s only him on the photo too, no Kalim or Jamil, no bothersome fairies, just him on the front cover, in the spotlight.

The sight of it makes something strange twinge in Leona’s chest, but he pushes it away in favour of asking for clarification. “What’s all this about?”

Jack’s fluffy tail thumps nervously on the grass behind him as he sits down in front of Leona, cross-legged. “Well, the yearly Fairy Gala is a really famous event, even if it’s fae exclusive, and fashion magazines always report on it. My sister is a huge fan of this magazine, you see, and she was really excited when she realised that you were really a student here…so she asked me if I could…” Here Jack looks down at the magazine again and doesn’t finish his sentence.

Leona can’t help but scoff. Kids are really something else. “What’s she going to do with it? Frame it?”

“She might,” answers Jack without a single shred of sarcasm, and Leona rolls his eyes.

“ _Autographs_? You’re doing autographs now, Leona-san?”

“Ruggie, keep it down or the whole school will be clamouring for them.” Leona retorts mockingly, as the younger boy emerges from behind a cluster of shrubs, holding a plastic bag and a takeout drink in one hand. Jack acknowledges Ruggie with a respectful dip of his head, and Leona takes the food from Ruggie as the second-year student sits down on the grass next to Jack.

“Though, if you’re really doing autographs, could I ask for ten or twenty of them to sell off - I’m just kidding!” Ruggie says hastily, when Leona growls warningly in his throat. “I didn’t know you had siblings, Jack-kun?”

“Oh, me? Yeah, I’m the oldest...I have a younger brother and sister.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Leona mutters, at the same time that Ruggie whistles, “What a good older brother you are, huh.”

Jack’s ears prick up. “I try to do my best to be a good role model to them, y’know. Be the kind of older brother they can be proud of.”

At that, Leona snorts, ripping apart the packaging around his lunch with more force than he intended. His mood is worsening by the second. “How sweet. You’re the firstborn, huh? Bet you get loads of special treatment from your parents.”

“Aaaand here we go,” Ruggie mutters under his breath, but Leona pretends not to hear.

“Mm? No.” Jack scratches the back of his head, oblivious to Leona’s increasing hostility, from the sight of his tail flicking irritably, his ears flattened against his head. “We’re all treated the same, I think. It might just be your household that’s different.”

“Eh, Jack-kun, you can’t just say that…!”

“I mean, why not?” Jack looks at Ruggie boldly. “I’ve been thinking about this since the Magift tournament, but Leona-senpai can do better than all those people in the royal household who don’t acknowledge him. If they think First Prince Farena is so great then they can keep sucking up to him. Why should Leona-senpai keep trying to prove people wrong when they’re so determined to beat him down?”

Leona is aware of Ruggie glancing helplessly at him, and he glares at Jack. “Watch your mouth, kid, you’re on thin ice. I don’t like what you’re trying to say.”

“You don’t like it because it’s true.” Jack counters. “Leona-senpai, you’re really strong and intelligent, but you’re quick to anger and you think the worst of people. You can be an amazing person but you decide to be lazy instead and not put effort in anything unless it benefits you, and you did some pretty terrible things to people when you lash out at others. You only think about yourself, like when you were hurting all those Magift students, and you used your unique magic on Ruggie-senpai to prove a point—”

Ruggie leaps to his feet. “ _Enough_ , Jack-kun! Leona-san, I’ll kick him out—”

“Sorry, senpai, but you can’t make me.” Despite the situation, Leona can’t help but stifle a snort at the sight of tiny Ruggie trying to tug at huge Jack. “If only you just...look in the right direction. Even if you can’t become king, you can do other things for people to accept you...just not the people that you want it from. There are lots of other people who think you’re amazing even if you can’t become king. People who _do_ accept you. Ruggie-senpai, _you_ say something too.”

“Eh?! Why me?!” Ruggie yelps.

“You think the same as me, don’t you?” Jack turns to him, golden eyes blazing. “That Leona-senpai can do better than those stuck-up guys at the Afterglow Savannah royal court? From how I see it, those people are never gonna acknowledge you anyway because it’s either you’re king or you’re not. And you can’t change the fact that First Prince Farena will be king, so those people won’t ever change their minds no matter what you do.” Jack pauses. “So you should just...ignore them.”

“ _Ignore_ them?” Leona snaps. “What are you talking about? You really think it’s so simple?” This damned brat really doesn’t know anything.

“Why not? Ruggie-senpai doesn’t let other people’s comments get to him, even though he’s a hyena from a poor hometown.” Jack gestures to Ruggie, who immediately looks offended.

“Hey, don’t drag me into your social justice lecture, first-year!”

“Leona-senpai, I really think—”

“Jack-kun, stop!”

Leona growls, loudly enough so that both Jack and Ruggie jump. “You’re noisy. _Both_ of you. I don’t want to hear anything else.” He tosses his lunch box back at Ruggie and flops down on the grass, turning over so that he doesn’t face them. “I’m not hungry anymore. And I’m not going to sign some stupid magazine. Leave.”

There’s a heavy silence, and it seems as though Jack has finally realised that he’s said too much. After a moment Ruggie mutters “come on” and finally there is the sound of footsteps receding into the distance, and the faint thud of the greenhouse door closing, until Leona is alone again.

For a long time he doesn’t move, only lying there and listening to the occasional chirping of birds over the slow rush of wind through the plants, the air almost still around him. It’s quiet and calming, but sleep doesn’t come to Leona, no matter how much he tosses and turns. Jack’s words still ring in his head, digging at him, and part of him still remembers that odd prick of pain in his heart when he’d looked at that stupid magazine.

_There are lots of other people who think you’re amazing even if you can’t become king. People who_ do _accept you._

He sounded exactly like Farena. _You’re intelligent, there are many things you can do for this country even if you can’t become king_.

For a long time that was never what Leona wanted. To him, becoming king was the only way he could receive acceptance from the people at home. If you weren’t king, even if you were still a prince, it was the same as being a commoner - you were unimportant, and treated as such.

From the moment Leona was born, he was nothing but a spare, only kept to one side in case anything ever happened to Farena. His efforts and his talents all meant nothing: all of it was swept away in favour of the precious heir. All day long he was surrounded by people who simply tolerated his existence and never acknowledged anything he did.

When he got to Night Raven College, he found it hard to trust others, too. It seemed like everyone who got close to him was doing so for their own benefit: because he was royalty, because he was smart, because he was powerful. The plans and schemes that they came up with were child’s play compared to the things he truly coveted: what was a flashy victory at a high school sports tournament compared to his craving for the throne, for the crown? He just wanted to show the people who denied him what he was really capable of: the palace guards who whispered behind his back, the nobles who barely spared him a glance, the common folk who recoiled at the sight of him and his scar.

He’d never told anyone here about how he got his scar, and he isn’t planning to anytime soon. It doesn’t matter _how_ he got it, anyway - what did matter was that even though scars were meant to be a mark of courage at the Afterglow Savannah, like the King of Beasts did,  people back home saw it and flinched, averting their gazes, like the scar was a threat to them, a mark on him that said _abnormal, unworthy, imperfect_.

And he hated them because of it. He hated everything: it made him hyper-conscious of any criticism towards him, any glance that rubbed him the wrong way, and so he lashed out at any provocation, held people at arm’s length, and wanted nothing more than for people to see him, look up to him, admire him, and respect him, for what he was instead of what he wasn't.

_All I ever wanted was to be seen_.

But unless you were king, you were invisible.

_All I ever wanted was to be acknowledged._

But why does it matter to anybody if you’ll never amount to anything?

_All I ever wanted was to matter._

You don’t, and you never will—

_Don’t I?_

Leona feels his heart skip a beat when the realisation dawns on him. The first-year is right, isn't he? He isn’t invisible, not entirely, and he _does_ matter. Just not to the people that Leona had wanted that acceptance from.

There _are_ people who cared enough to give a crap about Leona. Farena, the queen, Cheka. All the students in Savanaclaw dorm who followed him. Ruggie, Jack, Jack’s kid sister. The other dorm leaders, too, even that horned bastard Malleus. They are just his classmates, his own family, bratty kids that he didn’t really care about...but it’s _something_. The people who think him a good dorm leader, a powerful team member, a formidable foe - who _acknowledged_ him.

And it feels much more fulfilling that he expects it to be, moreso than from those who would never accept him, no matter what he did. Those people hate him just as much as he hates them, if not more, and Leona had taken their scathing words to heart. But now, the difference is that Leona can choose to spend his time on better things, with better people.

He thinks about all the letters he gets from home, from his brother, his nephew, even his sister-in-law. He thinks about how hard his dorm’s students work, especially Ruggie, to meet his expectations, whether it be in Magift practice or the plots he cooked up. He thinks about how much the other dorm leaders, even the Prefect from Ramshackle dorm, like to meddle in his business and bother him - because they need his help, or want to make him a better person. Those people don’t hate him.

Nothing good comes out of being so consumed by hate. It only hurt yourself and others around you who _do_ care about you. 

After his Overblot, Leona should know that better than anyone. It was just that he chose to ignore it. In fact it’s those people’s acceptance that makes all the difference. It’s those people who can be _enough_ , because they now understood him, and they still stayed by his side, and supported him, more than the others ever did.

And all he needs to do is to let go.

It’s easier said than done, of course, all those years of torment and misery spent growing up under judgmental eyes and unkind words, but still Leona finds himself getting to his feet and leaving his spot at the gardens, overly conscious of his surroundings as he steps out of the greenhouse and heads back to the main campus building.

The corridors are quiet as classes are still in session, but not for long as a bell rings and the faint chatter grows louder when students begin filing out of the classrooms, free from their lessons for a day. Many jump out of the way at the sight of Leona striding down the hallway, but he can hear distant shouts of “Leona-senpai!” from his dormmates greeting him, and it doesn’t take him long to find Ruggie, standing at the doorway of Professor Trein’s classroom, carrying an armful of textbooks almost taller than he is.

“Sorry, sensei, I'll make sure to—eh, Leona-san?!”

Leona catches the topmost textbook about to slip off the pile deftly with one hand and looks down at him. “Doing manual labour to make up for your recent test scores, Ruggie?”

“I don't want to hear that from _you_ ,” Ruggie mutters peevishly, and Leona chuckles in response. “What are you doing here? I was going to come get you at the greenhouse after class…”

Leona makes a noncommittal grunt, looking dismissively over the textbook in his hands. “I’d be waiting forever if I did that, with all these errands you have to run. You still have my lunch from earlier?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I put it in your room…”

“Mm. By the way, d’you know where I can find the first-year?”

Ruggie frowns. “First…? Oh, you mean Jack-kun? He’ll probably be getting ready for track and field club...hey!”

Without another word Leona plops the textbook back on top of Ruggie’s pile and sets off in the direction of the training field. Ruggie stumbles to balance the precarious pile of textbooks and jogs after him, asking, “What are you looking for him for, anyway?”

“Gonna sign his stupid magazine.” Leona doesn’t look at Ruggie as he answers, staring resolutely ahead instead.

Ruggie’s response is as expected. “Oh? Why the sudden change of heart? It can’t just be because it’s a girl who wants your autograph, right?”

Leona sighs, averting his gaze. Unconsciously he raises his hand to his face, his fingers brushing the mark over his eye, pushing the bangs out of the way where he’d always hidden the scar with his hair, out of sight as much as possible.

“Who knows...maybe I’m just tired of being bitter all the time.”

Ruggie hums, and Leona wonders if he really understands what he means. Still, all he says is, “Is that so,” and leaves it at that.

And for Leona, it's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite being my favourite character, Leona’s chapter was the hardest to write, not just because of the theme for him (hate) but also due to how complex and mysterious his character still is. First of all, hate seemed like a really shallow emotion to attach to any Twisted character, let alone Leona - of course all of them had hate, whether it be towards certain people, or towards their past, or towards their fate, and that was why they go into Overblot as well. Still, I ended up with hate on Leona because all the other aspects (pain, shame, anger) fit the other three too well (Jamil, Azul, Riddle). It then took me a long time to figure out an angle for writing Leona - there was too much we didn’t know about him, as he barely got any closure after his Overblot, with a lot of the story focusing instead on the Magift tournament, his total lack of regret (comedic scene instead of any actual development), and Cheka’s cameo.
> 
> I thought about how I could dig deeper into Leona’s hate, and after rereading the chapters were Leona spoke about himself and his past and struggles, I decided on the angle that while Leona wanted the throne so badly, what he really wanted was acceptance: not only that, it was acceptance from the people who looked down on him. There were plenty of people in Leona’s life who accepted him, like Ruggie and Jack, and even Farena, but he never cared about those people’s acknowledgements, he wanted to crush the people who would deny him - being told no just made him crave it more, so to speak. It was the people at home who said terrible things about him and Leona ended up internalising their opinions, believing that as long as he’s not at the top, second-best means nothing. It ended up so that Leona refused to care about people who did accept him, and his selfishness and single-mindedness towards hating people back at home only strengthened and blinded him to the acceptance he was already getting from many others around him who saw him for who he was.
> 
> In the end what I wanted to show in this chapter is that Leona needs to realise that with his many strengths and merits, acceptance from people who truly respect and support him is a thousand times more valuable than acceptance from people who will never give it to him, no matter how much he wants it from them. In more modern terms: get out of toxic environments and focus your energy on people who truly care about you.
> 
> Unlike my previous chapters, this chapter has more of connecting dots and making implications. Jack is the oldest of the children in his family, with a younger brother and sister, but it is only for plot’s sake that there is a fae magazine on the Fairy Gala or that his sister enjoys reading it and is apparently smitten with Leona. Ruggie’s comment about girls is because Leona grew up in a culture that has high respect for women, as seen in Leona’s ceremony robe SR story and Cater’s school uniform R story. As mentioned at the beginning, this story happens after the Fairy Gala event ingame, not just the Savanaclaw chapter.


	4. Dear Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dear anger,  
>  You make me so high  
> You were faithful to show up on time  
> Such a flame that was burning in your eyes_

He remembers what he said back then.

_“I CAN’T BE WRONG. I HAVE TO BE RIGHT - I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO IS RIGHT. I AM ABSOLUTE. AND FOR ANYONE WHO DEFIES ME - IT’S OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!”_

It’s almost scary what happens to him when he lets his anger get to him: the burning in his body that makes him feel practically light-headed, numb with exhilaration, that it might sweep him away and drown him if he’s not careful. He thinks that one day it might, and the thought doesn’t scare him as much as he thinks it should. Like everything will be okay even if that happens.

He supposes that’s how he went into Overblot, after all.

Restraint. Such things are easier now that Riddle is aware of his own weaknesses, and when he has the support of his friends.

As far as “friends” go, though, Riddle can only truly call Trey his friend. The others who are somewhat more close with him, like Cater and Ace and Deuce, are really just acquaintances, and there are many others in the Heartslabyul dorm who kept Riddle at arm’s reach. His outburst at the Unbirthday Party had terrified them, he knows, and it is foolish to expect that they would readily accept him with open arms even after his past with his mother’s dominating rule had been revealed.

Still, it’s the little things that matter. Even now, as Riddle sits alone at the Heartslabyul lounge, enjoying a brief after-class break with his cup of milk tea - not lemon tea - he thinks that things can be okay. One step at a time.

He wonders if his mother would be willing to take that step, too.

“Stop crying, mom, it’s only 88 points...I didn’t even get into the top 50…”

Riddle sits up straighter at the sound of Deuce’s voice, attempting to look more composed like his usual self as the first-year student comes down the stairs from the dorm rooms. He seems distracted, his expression sheepish as he holds a phone up to his ear, and he doesn’t seem to notice Riddle there as he sits down on the couch opposite to him.

“Mm. I know, mom.” Deuce smiles a little. “I’ll do better next time, I promise.”

Riddle stiffens at the words. They sound so much like what he used to say to his own mother, except it sounds...different, somehow.

Less desperate. More genuine.

For a moment he thinks about getting up to leave Deuce to his privacy - though it was Deuce who came along in the first place - but the younger boy is already saying his goodbyes and hanging up, and he jumps about a foot into the air when he looks up to realise he has company after all. “Dorm leader Rosehearts! Please excuse me, I didn’t notice—”

“It’s alright.” Riddle waves him down, and surprisingly Deuce does sit back down again. “It’s not against the dorm’s rules to talk to family members after class. And there’s still thirty-seven minutes until you are due to club activities. Was that your mother, then? You seemed...concerned.”

“Oh, uh…” Deuce’s cheeks pink slightly. “I told my mother about my test results, that’s all. She was a bit emotional.”

“Ah, yes.” Riddle’s brows furrow. “The test that you made a deal with Azul for…?”

“I-I didn’t cheat! I really studied the notes that he gave me, that’s all…”

“Hmph. I’ll overlook it just this once.” Riddle sits back on the couch. “Even though it was through unseemly means, what’s done is done, and there are no rules stating that you cannot ask for help from other students...and besides, you appear to be pleased about the news.”

“I mean, I do feel really bad about asking Azul for help, and dragging the Prefect into it to help me...but I still felt good when I told my mother the score I got.” Now Deuce smiles a little embarrassedly, looking down at his phone. “She doesn’t really mind about me not getting into the top 50 like I told her I would...I guess to her, anything is better than rock bottom, where I used to be. She really worried about me back in middle school, so I want to become a better student, and that’s why I worked so hard to come to Night Raven College...so I can become a son she can be proud of.”

Riddle stays silent. He recalls what he had said in his outburst at him and Ace before. _You’re probably born from parents who can’t even use magic, anyway, I’m sure you didn’t receive any good education before you stepped foot in this school...how pathetic._

In that moment, he’d let the words escape him, not caring about how cruel they were. Thinking back on it now, it must have hurt Deuce a lot.

“...Deuce, I—”

“Heh, wouldn’t have pegged _you_ for a mummy’s boy, Deuce.” Riddle is interrupted by the arrival of Ace, trooping noisily down the stairs and drowning out Riddle’s words. At one point Riddle might have been irritated at being interrupted, but he feels relief, followed by a flash of guilt, that Deuce doesn’t seem to have heard his half-hearted apology.

“Clam it, Ace,” Deuce shoots back, the heartfelt moment gone, and Riddle busies himself with drinking from his cup as Ace appears around the side of the couch to plop himself down on the sofa next to Deuce.

“Or what? Hey, dorm leader.”

“Good afternoon, Ace.” Riddle scrutinises him over the rim of his teacup. Ace has gotten considerably less formal when interacting with him, but he supposes it’s better than most other students who are still quite jumpy around him.

“So? What did your family say about your grades?” Deuce asks, gesturing to the phone in Ace’s hand.

“They were surprised, that was for sure. My brother said even he didn’t get such high scores till his second or third year.” Ace stretches his arms out, yawning. “Well, he says that the things they taught when he was at school were probably different from what we just got tested on, anyway, so it’s not like it’s a fair comparison or anything.”

“Oh, you did mention that before.” Riddle looks up, frowning a little. “You have an older brother who is an alumni student of this dorm…?”

“Mm, yeah. He’s seven years older than me, so he doesn’t really remember much of his time here anymore, but he had a good time here, I think, and my parents just base their expectations of me on what he got here.” Ace grins. “In a way, as long as I do better than him, then I’m fine. No need for top marks or anything.”

“That wouldn’t be hard to do if you just put in the hard work and studied, though,” Riddle points out.

“That’s what I said, and he didn’t listen.” Trey’s voice sounds over Riddle’s head, and Riddle glances up to see the bespectacled senior leaning over the couch. “He still tried to get answers out of me for the magic history test.”

“Look, I wasn’t _cheating_ , it was just - strategic planning! There’s no point revising all ten chapters when only three chapters get tested!”

“That’s not what education is supposed to be.” Trey remarks. “If you go through school just memorising things to pass tests and graduate, then you’ll never learn anything.”

Ace’s expression sours and he sits back on the couch, arms crossed over his chest. “Cheh.”

“We have teachers to just read off the books, too,” Deuce says loyally. “It’s not like _they’re_ teaching us anything effectively, either.”

“Oh, what’s this? A-deuce Combo getting along? I need to take a picture~”

“Stop calling us that!” Ace snaps, at the same time that Deuce swears and throws up his hands in front of his face, though not before there’s the flash of a smartphone camera above Riddle’s head.

“Deuce, mind your language!” Riddle barks, unable to stop himself. _Don’t get mad._ One step at a time.

“Sorry, sorry! Don’t take my head off!” Deuce truly looks apologetic, rather than fearful. “Diamond-senpai, please stop taking pictures of me.”

“No can do, my followers on MagiCame _love_ you two, you know?” Cater chuckles and bounds over to the opposite couch, leaning over the back of the chair between Ace and Deuce to show them his phone. “Look at how many likes there are on the posts that you two are in! You’re the inseparable duo that’s the talk of the town! My ticket to stardom! Well, a backup ticket,” Cater adds after a moment of thought. “I’m still the main performer, of course. You two are like...the side act.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended about that or not,” Deuce mutters.

“I’d be offended,” Ace butts in. “Let me see the comments. Anyone asking for my number or anything? I bet I’ve got a ton of admirers.”

“You could just open your own MagiCame account,” Trey offers. “So that people who like you can follow you themselves instead of waiting for Cater to upload posts about you.”

“That’s an idea!” Cater snaps his fingers, and waves his hand in Ace’s direction. “Give me your phone, I’ll download the app and set up your account for you right now. I’ll make my sisters follow you, too. All you need is a few striking posts, and an eye-catching bio! Something that makes you pop, yeah?”

Ace looks bewildered. “I...don’t think I have anything like that.”

“You need an _angle_ , something that makes you stand out.” Cater nods. “What’s your unique magic?”

“Uh, I haven’t got one yet.”

“Me neither,” adds Deuce.

“And that’s okay,” Trey interrupts, when Cater opens his mouth to respond. “It’s not like having a unique magic is a requirement for being a wizard. It’s just an extra weapon to have, that’s all. Most students here don’t develop their unique magic until their second year or so.”

“Jack has _his_ unique magic already, and he’s a first-year student like us.” Ace complains. “Floyd says Azul developed his in middle school, and what, even our dorm leader got his really young, right?”

The pause that follows lasts far too long before Trey says quickly, “Those are...different cases. All I’m saying is, you don’t have to feel pressured to develop your unique magic as fast as possible. No one’s forcing you.”

Riddle stays silent as Ace answers Trey, Cater trying to cut in and make his voice heard, and Deuce chiding them. It must be nice, having nothing in the world to worry about but your immediate goals: your grades, your popularity on a social media app, developing a unique magic. Nothing as far as a future career, a goal for the rest of your life, an image to truly uphold and can’t be hidden or modified on an app. No one breathing down your neck, controlling every decision you made, every action you took, every word you spoke.

He’d been doing a lot of thinking, himself. When he was younger he only thought of meeting his mother’s expectations, without thinking about how unrealistic and challenging those expectations truly were. Coming to Night Raven College had begun to open Riddle’s eyes to the fact that not every child - in fact, no one else - had an education like he did, and that wasn’t a good thing.

Not every child perfected their unique magic at the age of ten, either. Unique magic was just that: an ability unique to every person. Most people only began developing them in their teens and perfecting them over time, since the point of the unique aspect was that it was truly characteristic to only that individual for the rest of their lives.

What does that say about Riddle, whose unique magic was to put collars on people to lock their magic and make them feel helpless and under his control? How long had it taken Riddle to realise that it was exactly due to how controlling his own mother had been on him, that his urge to be free and be the one in control for once had manifested in his magic?

It’s hard _not_ to make a big deal out of unique magic and how they take form. In this world of spellcraft and sorcery, where anybody could use learn magic if they had the innate nature for it, unique magic is what makes you stand out. It’s what marks you as different from others, and for Riddle, his is to punish and contain.

Did his mother go through something similar? Did her parents also push, and push, and push, until she wept red and bled black like he did when he went into Overblot? Did she simply fold under all that pressure, until she too forgot how to love and care?

He doesn’t want to be like her. He won’t be like her, and he won’t be like his father either, compliant and silent. He knows now that she is wrong and to believe her and go along with her means he is wrong, too.

He knows it’s foolish to think about what things would have been like if this and that were different. What’s happened has been done. Yet part of him wonders what it would be like to have a mother like Deuce’s, siblings like Cater’s and Ace’s, a family like Trey’s. To be allowed to like white roses and drink milk tea and eat not just strawberry tart, but raspberry cake and cherry pie and mont blanc. To be sad with them and cry with them, to be happy with them and laugh with them.

Just like now: it’s joyous and comfortable, watching his classmates bicker, how relaxed they are, and the laughter of his friends around him, free and content.

Perhaps he can have that, in Night Raven College, with everyone here, but he wishes he can have that at home, too.

When he goes home for the winter holidays, he’s going to have to talk to his mother, he knows that. His Overblot was too much for Crowley to keep it a secret. Parents have always been the bane of teachers’ duties and responsibilities. She may not listen to him, but he will have to try, no matter what.

Compromise. That is what Riddle will have to insist on. His whole life he has listened to his mother, to her requests, her instructions, her demands - but it is time that he speaks up to her, not as a petulant child, but as an equal.

He knows that they will fight, and they will argue, and it will all take time, and it will be a long and hard road ahead no matter what the outcome will be. And there will no doubt be anger, too much of it. But he can’t let it sweep him away, drown him, push him back down.

He won’t. He won’t become the villain this time.

Never again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!
> 
> The information about Ace’s older brother comes from Ace’s school uniform R card story, and Riddle’s ceremony robe SR card story. The brief information we know about Riddle’s father is from his Ghost Marriage event SR card main screen lines, that he doesn’t get along well with his wife and it can be inferred from Riddle’s history in the main story chapter 1 that his mother dominates the majority of family matters, making his father’s silence complicit in allowing that level of control over Riddle.
> 
> And so it ties back to the concept of them as villains! I hope you guys enjoyed this self-indulgent character study of mine, and I may do more as Pomefiore, Ignihyde and Diasomnia eventually get their Overblots in the future. For my first Twisted fic I think it went alright. If you liked this please feel free to leave a comment or follow me on Twitter!
> 
> See you guys again next time!

**Author's Note:**

> My first Twisted fic, I hope you guys like it! This was mainly inspired by the song “Dear X, You Don’t Own Me” by Disciple, namely the verses of “dear pain”, “dear shame”, “dear hatred” and “dear anger”. Each verse is dedicated to one of the four students who went into Overblot, as a kind of character study and aftermath+consequences post-Overblot.
> 
> Come follow me on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/Sicarius130)!


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